October
by Famirad
Summary: Written for Damned LJ . Stuck in a horrific mental institute that changes by night, Sam is taken for experimentation and must deal with the results, finding his visions go backwards instead of forward. He seeks help in unexpected places.
1. Outside Help

**October**  
by Famira Damaris

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of this. The writing is my own, the characters and settings aren't.

**Summary**: Written for Damned (LJ RPG). Stuck in a horrific mental institute that changes by night, Sam is taken for experimentation and must deal with the results. He seeks help in unexpected places.

**Author Notes**: This first part was written a year ago for this writing event we had in this panfandom livejournal game I'm a part of, called Damned. The premise is basically your character wakes up and suddenly finds themself in a seemingly normal mental institute...only it's not and changes to a survival-horror setting each night. Oktoberfest involved taking any characters in Landels and writing a 2000-5000 word fic. This was my entry last year.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X  
October  
X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

**(Outside Help)**

It felt like his head was going to split apart.

Sam wasn't sure how long he'd been lying on the table, when those doctors had left, or if they were even going to come back. The thought alone made him shiver, and not just from the piercing headaches that made the room swim before him, or the chilly air of the lab. All he knew was that something felt _off_ in his head and that the headaches were getting progressively worse. He wasn't aware of sliding off the table. The next thing he knew, Sam found himself sitting on the cold tiles of the floor, cradling his head and having the sinking feeling that even if he did close his eyes, that wouldn't stop him from _seeing_. It never worked before. Right now wasn't any different.

The first vision was just a flash.

He caught a confused glimpse of fire, felt the pure heat of it bathe him, and then he was punched back into the present, sitting huddled on the floor.

His visions were of the future; _the_ Demon-related.

So what was this supposed to mean -

_Sam gasped as another vision came at him, the floor seeming to smear away and suddenly it wasn't just the fire, he was _there_, standing in the hall as Sam's room glowed orange, tongues of flame crackling at the door-frame, wondering why Daddy ran off and where was Mommy? He couldn't move. There was a feeling in his tummy that something bad was happening. Daddy suddenly ran out of the room and shoved his baby brother into his arms, the first time he'd ever held Sammy cause they said he wasn't old enough._

"Take your brother outside as fast you can! Now, Dean! Go!"

Sam clutched at his head. The piercing headache had died down to something a bit more tolerable, but it only gave him time to breathe, and wonder just why he was seeing all this. It didn't make sense. What he saw? He already knew about, at least from piecing together what Dad and Dean told him. He'd just seen _that_ night from Dean's point of view, but it was over, done for. It wasn't the future because it was already twenty odd years too late. And why was he now seeing these visions from a person's eyes? Before he was just a bystander, one who couldn't do anything more than watch, and follow the action. Like some kind of messed up movie, except no one involved was an actor and someone almost always died. This time was different; it felt real, happening right now and not like he was some bystander, but really _there_, seeing and feeling everything probably even better than Dean himself remembered.

The doctors did something to him.

How he didn't know. But they obviously knew a few things about psychics that he didn't and now he was finding out the hard way the after-effects. He just wanted them to stop; seeing into Dean's head (even as a kid) felt wrong, like he was invading his brother's privacy. Like digging up old, salted and burned skeletons in the closet.

"Sam?"

Sam struggled to his feet, wobbling, and grabbed at the table for support before he pitched over and brained himself on something. Headaches and or not, he was more than a little relieved. The voice was distant, muffled, but he knew his brother's voice anywhere. "Dean! I'm in here!"

He was still trying to keep his feet under him when Dean busted in with his typical grace, the doors slamming open as he came in looking absolutely _pissed_. He was holding the flashlight way too hard like he was waiting for an excuse to club someone over the head with it and then beat them to a bloody pulp for good measure. It wasn't really that hard to figure out why. His brother wouldn't admit it, but he'd been on edge ever since they ended up in Landels and kept watching him like he'd disappear if he looked away. Considering what happened, Sam supposed that maybe he had a point after all. Dean rushed over to Sam:

"You okay?" Dean demanded. "What'd they do?"

Sam wasn't really sure what to say. What, that they did something to his abilities (powers he didn't even understand fully), and he was seeing the past instead of the future? Dean already had a hard enough time getting used to the future part the first time around as it was. "They said they knew about my powers," he said. He didn't have to fake being dead tired. "Can we just get outta here? My head's killing me."

Dean went a silent for a second. Sam could practically see him chewing over the fact he hadn't gotten a straight answer. "Okay, yeah. Sure."

He reached out to help Sam up and support him, seeing that he probably wouldn't be able to walk steadily on his own just yet. At his touch, Sam stiffened. The headaches he felt before? Were _nothing_ like the one that hit him full force. Sam staggered, nearly bringing Dean down with him as he lost control of legs that suddenly weren't _his_ and then the world around him melted away again as if it was made of wax.

He was aware of Dean's frantic "Sam!", but it was from far away and growing further still...

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

For his first job flying totally solo, this wasn't going as well as he'd hoped it would.

Maybe it had to do with the fact Dean wasn't dealing with the standard ghost that was perfectly happy haunting a few houses or killing a few unlucky bastards. Those he could handle. Just plug 'em with salt, burn the remains and the sucker was gone for good. No, this thing had to be something else. The profile of it wasn't like anything he'd seen before till now, probably 'cause he hadn't ever heard of a spirit running around friggen _sodomizing_ its victims...who all happened to be men and seemingly selected at random. Dean wasn't sure if Dad knew about all this beforehand or if this was some kinda test, but he wasn't gonna back out just 'cause this spirit was way out of the ballpark for what he counted as _normal_.

Still, test or not, he was gonna be pretty damn careful. Getting butt-raped by some ghost with a fetish for that crap wasn't exactly his idea of a good time.

The things you did for this job.

Strolling over to the Impala, Dean tossed the folder with the clippings onto the side seat. He'd taken the liberty of cutting out what he needed from the library - it wasn't like anyone would miss them - and he'd skimmed through enough to get a better idea what he was going up against. It looked like it was a popobawa, some kind of spirit (or djinn - the stories didn't agree) that was from Tazmania or something. It was the only thing he'd found that matched the kind of ass-invader calling card that was popping up all over Ackley, Iowa. Not only that, but as far as he could tell, there was no real way to predict who would be the next victim or even how many had even been hit. Young, old, it didn't seem to matter so long as you had a set of balls and didn't believe in the popobawa - which didn't exactly narrow anything down. And not everyone who was a victim was gonna go out and report getting violated, either.

Dean wasn't nervous. He felt he could do this, _knew_ he could 'cause he'd done it hundreds of times with Dad - only Dad wasn't here now to back him up. It was just him, the car, and the fact that his first solo gig was hunting a _popobawa_.

Hunting down an undead sodomist wasn't very awesome in his book. It'd be one of those things he'd probably never ever tell Sam, just on principle.

Huh, weird. Driving around Ackley and scoping out the victims' houses, Dean found himself randomly thinking about Sam. He'd been out of touch with his kid brother after Sam decided it was more important to go to college rather than do the right thing and respect Dad's wishes. And, y'know, the whole hunt evil thing. Dean hadn't really talked to him much after that. What was there to say, _I think you made a dumb mistake 'cause higher education's for people who don't know better and _maybe_ Dad's right_? Yeah, that'd sit well.

Anyway, right now Sam was probably doing whatever it was college kids did, and pretending to have a normal life with the rest of them. Whatever. Dean pushed thoughts of Sam away and focused on the now. And frowned. It took a while to realize just what was wrong with this picture: now that Dad wasn't here, it was way too quiet in the Impala. Nothin' good on the radio and - un_believable_ - Dad hadn't left any cassette tapes or _anything_ in the glove compartment. _Are you serious?_ Okay, so he got Dad was hardcore about hunting, but you'd think the man would've at least have something for the road, seeing as driving and more driving got boring after a while between jobs. All this silence? Startin' to get on his nerves. Now that the Impala was his, really his, Dean promised himself that he was gonna fix this next chance he got.

_After_ he proved to himself he could hunt without backup.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

_ - Another brief flash of the room, shot through with a view of wide open road, and then the lab was gone - _

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Dean never had problems lying, scamming, or cheating to get a job done.

But it was always when he faced whatever went bump in the night, what really _did_ hide in your closet and under your bed, that he felt..._weird_. Parts of his body would feel oddly cold, his stomach heavy, empty in a way that just didn't feel right. Disconnected. He guessed it was possible he was actually scared. People got scared. Just 'cause he grew up with this stuff didn't mean he couldn't be one of those people. But he'd always thought that when you got scared, you froze or panicked or did something just as useless. Dean didn't panic. He knew how things were; they were a lot more simple than people who had stuff to lose, the _normal_ people that a certain _someone_ pretended to be - all Dean had to do was hunt down these sons of bitches and that was it. So logically he knew there wasn't really anything to be worried about, since there wasn't the same things at stake here. No mortages, nothin'.

But his body still reacted with fear sometimes during hunts, even when his mind was already going on autopilot.

Dean knew he was running a huge risk doing exactly what the popobawa wanted and sleeping indoors in a bed, but he wasn't going to be able to track this thing down unless he tempted the bastard out. And he was pretty sure he felt scared, judging from that annoying, faintly uncomfortable pit in his stomach, even though he was a hell lot more well-armed than the men before him who got attacked and that pit wouldn't stop him from wasting this spirit/djinn/whatever it was.

Assuming it even showed up tonight.

It didn't help Dean was bored out of his mind waiting night after night for the popobawa to decide it wanted a piece of his ass. At least when Dad was here, he had the option of someone to talk to. He didn't remember this much waiting, sitting with his thumbs up his butt, and doing jack when he'd been road tripping with Dad.

He took a sniff of the bed he was lying on and made a face. It smelled vaguely like old people. Great.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

- _Sam's headache ebbed, only to spike. Then - _

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Whatever the stories said about popobawas, they seriously didn't do the godawful smell of the bastards justice.

Dean's eyes watered as the stench hit him like a solid smack in the face. He couldn't begin to describe it. No words came to mind 'cause when it hit you, your mind just went completely blank instead of trying to process just how fuckin' bad it was. If he could smell anything after this, he was gonna be _very_ surprised.

The popobawa had come just like the stories said it would - some scratching on the roof followed by the smell - and then it tried to press down on him while he pretended he was sleeping. And found itself getting a faceful of rock salt...which proved about as useful as shooting it with spitballs. Dean rolled off the bed as it reflexively brought an arm down at him, demolishing the mattress and turning the frame into a pile of splinters. He tossed the shotgun to the side as he went for the knife he'd dipped in lamb's blood, unsheathing it with a smooth motion. The popobawa was pretty damn big in all the wrong places once he got a good look at the damn thing. Dean tried not to look down, but he couldn't help it even as he circled for more space in the cramped motel room. And he had to say that smell or not, the popobawa was _packing_.

It was like a friggen weapon of mass destruction or something, and, even worse, it was standin' tall like it was aimed at him and ready to plunder his ass if it only got the chance.

He was probably going to be glad he was half-blinded by the involuntary tears to begin with, 'cause that was pretty nasty even by his standards.

Despite how bloated it was, the popobawa was surprisingly agile for its size. It was moving just fast enough to keep him on his toes, forcing him to keep moving. Dean had thought things were going pretty well (aside from the smell) up to the point he actually tried stabbing the bastard. The knife plunged into its chest right up to the hilt. He gave the blade a twist.

Only the popobawa didn't die.

Judging by the first sound he'd gotten out of it - a pained, shrill squeal - he'd hurt the son of the bitch, but _it wasn't dying_.

Dean had just about a surprised second to register this before the popobawa swung at him. He didn't duck fast enough: he hit the wall behind him hard, white bursts winking in and out before his eyes. Dean shook his head, the room spinning for a second. For a creature that was basically just a walking mountain of fat and one hell of a hard-on, it could deck you like nobody's business. One side of his face felt almost entirely numb; it was gonna hurt like a bitch later assuming that wasn't the only part of him hurtin' after all this was over.

Slithering out from under the popobawa, Dean made a mad scramble for the dresser across the room. He'd just wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the second knife he'd left there, his JIC - _Just In Case_ - when he suddenly found himself sliding backwards across the crappy motel carpet.

Twisting around, Dean tried to kick out at the popobawa but it had too tight a grip on his ankle, dragging him closer. And closer to the real danger here, which was way, _way_ bigger when you were almost under the damn thing's jewels.

Dean reacted on instinct. The knife flashed out; slicing through the popoboawa, it met some resistance, the blade dragging through its flesh and cutting clean through. Something heavy and _wet_ landed on his chest as he jerked the knife free, the popobawa making a strangled grunt, its blood spraying out all over the hunter underneath it. It went down like a sack of intestines and lay there, nice and dead-like and just how he liked it even though he was pretty sure he hadn't hit any vital organs.

Sitting up, Dean wiped the blood from his face with his free hand, heart still thundering in his chest. He glanced over at the popobawa: the corpse was starting to wither in on itself like a deflating balloon. The smell, however, wasn't going anywhere fast; his stomach was still trippin' over itself trying to decide if he was gonna hurl or what.

_Damn_, why was it still smelling in here? His nose wrinkled. It was getting worse, not better.

Dean made the mistake of looking down at what was now in his lap -

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

- And Sam was back in the present, no longer holding the bloodied knife, and with his hands instead clutching at his brother.

"C'mon Sammy, snap out of it."

Dazed, Sam shook his head, reaching up and rubbing at his eyes as he realized that he was no longer...well, no longer _Dean_. Or, to be technically correct, past-Dean. Present-Dean was now currently on his knees next to him and bending over, the overhead lights of the experimentation room flickering and buzzing overhead, casting him in partial shadow. Sam could just barely make out his brother's face as he sat there for a moment and got used to be being himself all over again.

"You back?" Dean asked. "Another one of your, uh, vision things?"

"Yeah. More or less," Sam said, breathless. He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell Dean all about the details just yet. But despite everything, despite what the Landels doctors did to him, and how weak he felt, he couldn't help the beginnings of a grin. For all the crap Dean gave him sometimes (okay, _most_ of the time), at least _he_ wasn't the one to end up with popobawa dick all over his lap.

Dean scowled down at him suspiciously as he hauled him to his feet. "What're you all grinnin' about? Don't tell me you're cracking up on me after I went through all the trouble finding you..."

Sam's head still ached, but he managed to shoot a shaky smirk at his brother. "Popobawa."

Dean didn't even miss a step. "What." It was a statement, not a question: Dean knew _exactly_ what he was talking about. "How do you - y'know what, not even gonna ask. What is it with you and your Sylvia Browne channeling?" he muttered under his breath. "So not in the mood for this."

"Thanks," said Sam. He was glad to see Dean too.

His brother made sure he could walk before herding him out the door into the hall. Sam swayed on rubbery legs, but managed to keep them from spilling out under him, leaning heavily on Dean. The trip back was quiet, a lot more quiet than usual when you traveled with Dean - he usually commented on every inane thing under the sun _just because he could_ - and Sam guessed that he just plain didn't feel like talking. Not when he'd just found out that his little brother had been taken and...well, Sam didn't think it'd be a good idea to fill in the blanks with all the gory details. Yet. Sam didn't have any names, faces, only an inkling on motive, and no idea where the doctors went after they did their business.

So basically they had nothing.

All he had was that maybe the staff here had already done something to Dean's memory and now he was next. The thought pushed away any amusement he felt at the popobawa (even though it wasn't even _that_ funny to begin with). Seeing Dean and yet it wasn't the Dean _he_ knew, and knowing that he could end up like...it wasn't something he wanted to think about it, but it was a real possibility here. Sam knew he had to help his brother regain his memories, bring him up to speed so he could have the brother he knew so well back and not this Dean-but-not with him.

This Dean was just as protective, but there was still something different about him to Sam, something small but _there_ in how he acted, said things in a certain way, that was like deja vu, only all the time whenever he was around Dean. He didn't look at him or carry himself how Sam remembered. It was little things, really, but they added up until you looked around one day and realized that it wasn't just the obvious, big missing memories that bugged you, but the really small stuff that got to you in the end. It bothered him more than he was willing to admit to Dean, and now was only just willing to admit to himself.

Dean was his brother; he always would be, memories or not, but Sam would be lying if he said he didn't want the old Dean back.

Sam wasn't sure if he might be more resistant to the mind-wipe - or whatever it was - than Dean, but if there was any time he actually needed his abilities, it was now.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

The problem was he had no idea where or who to turn to about this mind stuff. Dean used to act like Sam should just somehow _know_, but the fact was this was as weird to him as it was to his brother. These visions? That time with the telekinesis? They just happened, whether he was ready or not. He didn't like it, but he could deal with being some kind of freak psychic. But that still didn't mean he understood this mind stuff any better than his brother. It wasn't like there was a manual for this.

Sam needed help.

So he went to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

_Can't believe I'm doing this_ was Sam's first thought. He might have been buried studying for law, but even he knew who Obi-Wan was...and while Dean might have geeked out over this, Sam wasn't so amused. For all he knew, this young man sitting across from him, with his hands clasped on the table, simply believed he was Obi-Wan and this was all a waste of time. Still, it couldn't hurt to ask and he hadn't anything to lose by just asking. Anyway, it was surprising what you could get just by asking and asking nicely.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi?" Sam asked.

The young man nodded. He had a way of just looking at you that Sam had to like, even if the question of whether he really _was_ Obi-Wan was still up in the air. Many people when they talked looked at other things, were distracted, and frequently broke eye contact. Obi-Wan just looked right at you. And maybe right through, because Sam felt like he could see his doubts even as he sat down at the table across from Obi-Wan, ignoring the tray of food he'd brought with him.

"And I take it you're Bob? Bob Dylan?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Yeah," said Sam. He winced mentally. He'd been hanging around with Dean way too much; he was lucky Obi-Wan wasn't reacting at all to the alias. "Obi-Wan, I need your help."


	2. Vested Interest

**October**  
by Famira Damaris

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of this. The writing is my own, the characters and settings aren't.

**Summary**: Written for Damned (LJ RPG). After coming to Obi-Wan Kenobi (Star Wars) for help with his abilities, Sam begins his "training", Dean reflects on his relationship with Sam in Landels and hooks up with Max (Dark Angel). The four make a kitchen raid and run into something on the way. Dean's not a happy camper.

**Author Notes**: This second part was written a day ago for this writing event we had in this panfandom livejournal game I'm a part of, called Damned. The premise is basically your character wakes up and suddenly finds themself in a seemingly normal mental institute...only it's not and changes to a survival-horror setting each night. Oktoberfest involved taking any characters in Landels and writing a 2000-5000 word fic. This was my entry for this year.

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October  
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**(Vested Interest)**

Dean Winchester had seen a lot of weird things, but when Sam told him the other night "I know someone who can help us", he didn't think he meant _Obi-Wan Kenobi_.

Thinking about it _still_ got him going. He'd be finding it impossible to believe, even for him, except for the fact Sam seemed pretty dead-set on this, for starters, and two, when he asked "Obi-Wan" for proof, he gave it to him on a silver platter.

Sitting in the patient library, boxed in by bookshelves on either side, Obi-Wan wasn't really much to look at, Dean thought. He stood just behind Sam, hands shoved in his pockets and giving the guy a once-over. Didn't look like much. He had one of the weirdest haircuts he'd ever seen, some overgrown buzz with a random ponytail out the back, and the way he sat made it seem like he was just chilling out and _not_ trapped in some whacked-out prison like the rest of them. Dean wasn't sure what to make of him just yet.

Obi-Wan looked up. "Bob Dylan," he said, dipping his head in greeting.

Dean hid a smirk as Sam nodded.

"Obi-Wan," he said. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Dean. "This's my friend, Huey Lewis."

Dean almost elbowed Sam in the back.

Instead he played nice, "Hey."

Obi-Wan got straight to the point, turning his politely interested expression - that was the only way Dean could describe it - from Dean back to Sam.

"I understand you need help," he said. "I can't teach you, exactly, but I can at least help you control it."

Dean didn't have to ask what "it" was.

"How do we know you're the real deal?" he asked, shouldering past Sam to stare down at the other patient sitting in the chair. Sam shot him a sharp look but Dean ignored it. "No offense, but look where we are."

Obi-Wan not-quite smiled. "You want proof."

"It'd help, yeah."

Dean could feel the irritated glare Sam was fixing on the back of his head. He wasn't happy the first thing Dean did was jump this guy and demand he put out. He was bordering on insulting, but despite that, whatever he said seemed to slide off Obi-Wan like water off oil, the other patient just looking back at him with that same polite expression as before, unfazed. His eyes traveled from Dean's face to his necklace.

"That's an interesting necklace," Obi-Wan said suddenly. "May I have it?"

Dean flushed. Was he serious? His hand rose up on its own, touching the brass amulet possessively. "Hell no. What's that got to do with anything?"

Obi-Wan stared at him. Dean couldn't explain it but suddenly he felt like Obi-Wan was staring _through_ him, his blue eyes too damn blue, almost too clear to be a human's. The other patient made a slight movement with his hand.

"It's got everything to do with it. You wouldn't mind me looking at it. In fact, I'd like to hear where you got it from."

It seemed perfectly reasonable to reach up and remove the leather cord around his neck, the brass amulet catching the light as he cheerfully handed it over.

"I'd love for you to take a look at it, buddy," Dean repeated. He hooked over a chair with his leg and sat down on it backwards, straddling it, face rapt as if he was talking about his favorite gun. "I got it when I was a kid. Was only this tall," he held up his hand. "It was a Christmas gift from my brother, who got it from this family friend of ours, Bobby. He said it was supposed to be for Dad but it's mine now and has been ever since."

He beamed at Obi-Wan, watching as the patient returned his friendly smile and glanced down at his necklace, the brass pendent nestled in the palm of his hand. Somehow he didn't care if a stranger was manhandling his stuff; hell, he wasn't even worried if he'd get it back because it simply didn't cross his mind that it'd be a problem. Obi-Wan just asked him a favor and it seemed like the right thing, the natural thing, to give him the necklace and spill his life story out there for everyone to hear. What did it hurt?

It took him a few seconds to realize Sam was looking at him funny. Blinking, Dean wondered just what the problem was, disoriented and confused, and wondering just what his necklace was doing in Obi-Wan's hands and since when did he start letting other people touch it?

"Here," Obi-Wan said, handing it back. "Thank you for your cooperation. I trust that was proof enough?"

Shooting Obi-Wan a look and catching the beginnings of Sam's smirk (the kid was trying to stifle a laugh and losing), Dean put the necklace back on. Had he just been mind-tricked? While that was kind of awesome, at the same time it got him pretty damn worried. He hadn't been able to fight it off, much less feel anything different, and all Obi-Wan had to do was say something and he'd jump for a complete stranger.

But hey, at least it answered his question: "Obi-Wan" definitely had some kind of ability.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Maybe he wasn't sold all the way just yet: sure, Obi-Wan was eerily calm and, well, Jedi-like, but Dean wasn't buying it. Even if the guy had some tricks up his sleeve, he could just be a psychic like Sam, with suggestions thrown into the mix instead of weirdo death visions. So maybe he wasn't really from Star Wars, but it didn't mean he couldn't help. Or that they couldn't use him. Sam was surprisingly squeamish about using people but that was exactly what they did in this line of work - used them and ditched them by the wayside when they were done and then it was onto the next hunt and the next. Dean knew Sam would do it just like he'd been taught, but it bothered him sometimes and he couldn't hide it.

What they needed now was a way to defend themselves.

Dean saw the way Sam looked at him.

Sam probably thought he was being sneaky about it but he could see right through the kid: whatever he saw in Dean, he didn't like it. Sure, he tried to act like nothing was wrong, but after over a year on the road with Sam, day in and day out, he knew better. Hell, he'd been thinking about it too. People were taken for experiments here every other night. Dean had supposedly a year he couldn't account for, the last thing he remembered was sitting in the Impala's backseat, beaten to hell, watching Sammy and Dad fighting _again_ and wishing they'd just cut it out for a friggen change. But other than that? Just waking up in Landels, amazed he was alive and wondering when the hell he missed the sponge bath.

Maybe he'd been taken too, maybe he'd been mind-wiped or whatever into forgetting all that lost time. Dean might be pretty awesome at ass-kicking, but dealing with that psychic shit? Not so much. If they did something to him, there was no way he could stop them. Sam knew that just as well as he did.

Sam didn't know what to do, obviously, grasping at whatever straws he could grab, which explained why he was sitting in the Sun Room right now with Obi-Wan Kenobi and trying to learn more about those freaky mind-powers of his.

Dean hovered just inside the door of the Sun Room, keeping his distance. Obi-Wan sat with Sammy on the couch, his brother towering over the shorter patient (Jedi?), their heads bent toward one another. Seeing them like that made Dean a little uncomfortable. Excluded. It wasn't that he was jealous about Sam's powers, but he knew there was a part of Sammy he couldn't possibly understand, no matter how hard he tried. Occasionally Sam would tilt his head, reacting to something Dean couldn't see, and then Obi-Wan would speak, whispering words of encouragement. Sam looked almost...peaceful. It was weird because he'd gotten so used to it, but looking at the two, Dean realized this was the first time in a while he'd seen his brother look so relaxed. Jedi or not, Obi-Wan was doing _something_ right, he had to grudgingly admit.

It'd be stupid to interrupt. Wandering to the other side of the Sun Room, passing the other patients, some standing, some sitting, Dean appeared to be looking for a spot to sit down, strolling past to a couch at the far side of the room and sprawling down on it.

He flashed a grin at Max Guevara. "Got any dates for tonight?"

"I'm washing my hair," Max quipped back. "Booked up for the next couple of weeks. Sorry Dean, but there's just no space for you."

"Bet there's ways you could fit me in."

"Perv."

Dean lounged back on the couch. He was tempted to fling his arm over Max's shoulder but didn't: Max might be hot, but she was also _dangerous_ and hot and he liked having all his body parts attached, thanks. He still wasn't sure if he could believe she was from the future, but it wasn't like it was impossible, depending on what supernatural badass you were dealing with. Anyway, while he wouldn't mind banging Max - wasn't gonna lie there - that wasn't what he was here for.

There was other things he wanted to talk about with the chimera.

"So hey," he said, lowering his voice. "I've been thinkin'."

"Hell's frozen over and no one told me?"

Dean rolled his eyes, but he gave a casual shrug at the same time, not bothered by the teasing. "Sam and I are gonna go lookin' for supplies. You wanna come?" Dean lowered his voice, serious now. "We should try to find you some Tryptophan. Better safe than sorry, y'know?"

Max's face smoothed out. It was times like this he could see the chimera in her and believed she really could kick his ass six ways to Sunday if she wanted to. Lucky him he was on her good side.

"Okay," she said after a long pause. "I'm in."

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Hitching his leg over the top of the wall, Dean dropped down, landing with a shock that traveled right up his legs. What he wouldn't give for his normal clothes; dicking around in these monkey suits Landels gave them wasn't his idea of a good time and it made the whole breaking-and-entering bit harder than it had to be. Kicking down a door with these shoes, which were pretty much just glorified slippers? A dumbass idea. He wasn't breaking his foot over it. So that took out the fast way in.

That left the long way around.

Fun times.

Sam was over the wall right behind him and despite the fact his kid brother was a friggen giant, he had no problems scaling the wall and getting over the other side. Max wasn't far behind, scrambling up the wall faster than they both had and landing silently in a neat, gymnast-perfect crouch, barely disturbing the ground. Almost like a cat, Dean thought, and then realized for all he knew, she really might have some cat in that transgenic cocktail of hers. Now wasn't the place to ask, and instead he waited for the last member of their party: Obi-Wan was the last one over the wall and somehow he made it look easy, dropping down refreshed as if he was ready for that afternoon walk now. Must've been a Jedi thing.

Sam followed him as he led the way, keeping close to the shadows cast by the wall. They were silent as they traveled, keeping any conversation to a minimum. Traveling through the Sun Room was always dangerous and if they were going to get some weapons - salt, iron, knives, _anything_ - they'd have to make a stop at the kitchen first before heading upstairs to look for that Tryptophan. The route through the recreational field to the cafeteria was longer, but it was probably a tiny bit safer.

There was the sounds of something scuffling in the courtyard as they hurried across, but it was too dark to see and it sounded like it was all the way across the pond. Dean ignored it, focusing on their job right now. Sucks for whoever was out there but unless he could get both Sam and him armed, they couldn't be of much use to anyone. It really sucked, but sometimes you had to have certain priorities and couldn't just go gunning in and save everyone. That in mind, he stopped at the cafeteria door, ready to pick the lock.

"Wait, Dean," said Sam. "Hold on."

Did he feel something? Sometimes Sam had weird vibes, aside from his death visions, and while Dean didn't like it, he knew enough now to trust it. "What's up?" he whispered back.

"There's something inside," Obi-Wan spoke up. "I can't tell what it is. I know there's something in there but there's nothing at the same time."

"That's useful," Max muttered to Dean.

_Tell me about it_. "This's the only way into the kitchen."

Sam sighed. "I know. And we need this stuff."

It was then that Obi-Wan did a magic trick. Dean glanced over and saw him pull out a knife out of nowhere. He did a double-take. Where the hell did he get that? It was obviously not anything you'd find in the kitchen, but a real knife, big, double-edged and pretty lethal looking, ready for business. It was no pig-sticker, that was for sure. He hadn't even seen it on Obi-Wan, but somehow the Jedi had hidden it on his person until now. Max whistled, impressed.

"Nice," she said.

"Unfortunately this is all I have," Obi-Wan sighed. "And I'm afraid one knife between four of us isn't going to be of much use."

"Better than what we had before," said Sam with a dry smile, nodding at the heavy flashlights in their hands. "How're you with knives, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I'm relatively proficient, but this isn't the type of weapon I'm accustomed to. Knives aren't my forte."

The jury was still out on whether or not Obi-Wan was really who he said he was, but Dean had a feeling if lightsabers _were_ real and he did get his hands on one, he'd be a scary mother if he ever got armed. He was already holding the knife like a pro as it was.

"I practically grew up with one," Dean said. "I can use it."

He half-expected Obi-Wan not to trust him - _he_ wouldn't - but he was surprised when Obi-Wan handed over the knife. It was no gun. Still, Dean felt a lot better as his fingers closed around the hilt, testing its weight and getting used to its feel. It wasn't his gear but it'd do, even if it felt like the worn spots in the hilt were from a stranger's fingers - they probably were.

Max crossed her arms. "Okay, so what's the plan? We open the door, book it to the kitchen through the cafeteria and try not to get killed?"

"Yeah, basically," Sam said. "Obi-Wan'll open the door and Dean'll go in first, then we follow. We can't barrel in there as a big group, it's too dangerous."

Sam exchanged looks with Dean. Dean gave the barest of nods. They didn't need words now and he didn't have to be psychic to know what was going on in his brother's head: that one look said a lot of things like "good luck", "don't get killed" and there was something else, something Dean knew what it was but it'd cheapen it to give it words. Dean stood by the door, pumping himself up to take point as he watched Obi-Wan kneel by the doorknob and put his hand over it. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and just...sat there.

_Chunk_.

Dean had no idea how he opened the looked door with just his hand - telekinesis? - but he had to admit _that_ was pretty awesome and if there was anything Sam needed to pick up from his fellow psychic, it was how to do that. It'd make their jobs so much easier, assuming they ever got out of this mess. Dean adjusted his grip on the knife's hilt, tensed and ready to go, aware of Max right at his shoulder and ready to have his back if he couldn't handle this. Obi-Wan swung the door open.

Dean wheeled in, pivoting on his heel, and swept in fast enough to get him inside the cafeteria and with one of the tables between him and whatever was inside before he could get jumped. He didn't need Sam's powers or Obi-Wan's Force (shit, it was weird to even _think_ that) to know something was in the room with him. It was an instinct, a vague feeling of something just there filling up space, and it hadn't ever failed him before and didn't now. Keeping the knife in one hand, the flashlight in his other, he trained it toward where he thought the presence was. And paused.

The hell?

Since when did Bigfoot become real?

The thing lumbering at him from several yards away looked like the inbred bastard of a human and an ape, covered in shaggy black hair that didn't conceal the fact its body was hunched and twisted. Its eyes glowed yellow, reflecting his torch's light back at him like a wolf, and he got a pretty good look at those fangs peeking out, long as his thumb. Christ, the sonuvabitch was ugly. It also looked slow, and Dean thought he could lure it to the other side of the room up until the thing balls-to-the-wall _charged_ him, going from zero to apeshit in seconds. It went right through one of the tables, tossing it aside like it was made of paper, and came at him, fang-filled jaws gaping open, a horrific scream bouncing off the walls.

Dean hauled ass down the nearest aisle of tables and benches, his flashlight bobbing as he weaved. He could hear in the distance the thing gunning for him, as well as the sounds of his group entering the cafeteria. Dean wanted more than ever to kill this thing but it wasn't a hunt; if he killed it, great, but he couldn't bank on it. His priority was distracting it until the group was at the cafeteria doors. Dean sprinted, legs pumping, the silent tables blurring by, his flashlight bouncing crazily. Listening to the harsh breathing and the heavy _whomp-whomp-whomp_ behind him in the darkness, he knew he was going to get run down at this rate. A feint to the right and he booked it left, rolling to the floor and shutting off his flashlight in one motion, scooting under a table until he had an aisle between him and the monster.

The hunter clutched his knife in his hand, hidden under a table, listening as the thing's footsteps slowed and then came to a stop, its heels in front of his face. Dean didn't fool himself into thinking he could hide here forever. He'd seen the way the lights bounced off its eyes: it probably had insane night-vision, way better than a human's. If he was going to do anything, he'd have to do it now.

Dean struck out with the knife, aiming it to hamstring the thing and cripple it. It cut through the thick, matted fur and muscle, blood spraying in his face...only it didn't go in deep enough. There was just too much damn fur in the way. The thing lurched drunkenly and howled, whipping around, staggering on the injured leg but still upright. Dean crawled out of his hiding spot, scrambling to his feet. So much for that. He wheeled around and began running again, the lurcher still charging after him like a bull on steroids, limping, but still able to out-pace him. His head start of a few seconds meant jack.

He wasn't sure what made him duck.

He heard a terrible, deafening screech as the lurcher ripped something from the floor. Dean ducked, and just barely - the table shaved by overhead with inches to spare, crashing to the cafeteria floor, rolling violently, and coming to a rest in a shower of debris. It blocked his way. Dean skidded to a stop, turned, and found the monster practically breathing down his neck, its eyes burning yellow in the darkness.

The lurcher raised one enormous arm to take a swing at him.

And then fell back, howling again, this time in surprise. Max had jumped on the thing's back out of the darkness, wrapping her arms and legs around its chest like a monkey. The lurcher bucked, trying to shake her off, and the weight of the two of them was finally too much for the thing, its injured leg crumpling as it skidded in a puddle of its own blood. Dean stayed out of the way of the flailing arms, knowing a hit with one of those could probably break a few bones he needed. Max gamely stayed on the beast, tenaciously holding on with a strength Dean knew now wasn't human: he knew he was good, but if he'd tried that stunt himself, he'd have been tossed off minutes ago. Instead Dean circled around, watching as Max tired out the monster.

It was kinda creepy, actually, watching hot little Max go into predator mode like that.

It was one of those things Dean knew he'd keep his mouth shut about.

Right now Max had her arms around the lurcher's neck, squeezing its throat with a picture-perfect lock he knew even Dad would be proud of. The lurcher still struggled but its movements were slow, tired, its yellow eyes rolling in its skull, drool dribbling out from parted fangs.

"Sorry it took me so long," Max said, out of breath. "Thing was way too fast, even for me."

Dean snorted, trying to catch his own breath and wiping some of the rancid blood off his face with one hand. "Mind if I?" he nodded at the downed monster.

Max nodded. "Make it fast. I think it's trying to get a second wind, I can feel it."

The hunter cautiously approached the monster, Max shifting her position so he could have access to its neck. It took a lot longer than it should have to slit its throat - so much damn friggen _fur_ - but he managed, the lurcher going dead silent at last, face down in a growing pool of black blood. Checking to make sure her prey wouldn't be getting up any time soon, Max finally hopped to her feet, joining Dean as he headed toward the back of the cafeteria.

"The others made it into the kitchen," Max said. "So we're cool."

Dean hoped so.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Sam went searching the kitchen with him as Max and Obi-Wan split off to help cover the other end. Sam kept his voice quiet.

"You think it was human?"

Dean shrugged. "Could be. Who knows? All I know is I've never seen anything like it: have you?"

Sam shook his head, bending down and shining his flashlight into one of the open drawers, his face troubled. By now Dean had found some of what he was looking for, one arm carrying a haul of as much salt as he could handle. As far as he was concerned, this wasn't worth discussing. There was a lot of shit they didn't know, monsters they were running into they didn't know anything about, but if they were going to survive, they had to cover what bases they _did_ know about. Dean didn't know about fighting Bigfoot again, but if spirits or demons came at him, he wanted to be ready.

He changed the subject, sneaking a glance across the dim, gloomy kitchen. Obi-Wan had one of the cabinets open, and was now poking inside with that same calm, deliberate care he seemed to do everything with. Dean briefly wondered if there was anything that could get the guy riled up.

"So," Dean started. "Obi-Wan."

Sam didn't look up, rooting through his drawer. "What about him?"

Dean leaned on the counter, hip resting on the edge, trying to look casual. He didn't _feel_ casual; he felt strung-up and tense and it wasn't because of the fact he'd almost been killed (again) and was coming down off the adrenaline rush.

"Learn how to bend any spoons yet?" Damn, that came out harsher than he intended.

Sam finally looked up, frowning a little in the way only his geek brother could. "No. All he's showed me is how to meditate. That's it."

"Meditate. Right. Sounds pretty awesome already."

Dean didn't hide his cynicism. Sure, he thought Obi-Wan as a guy seemed to be okay, but that whole psychic thing and knowing how to do it as well as he did still freaked him out a little. What else did he know? If he really was some kind of Jedi (or like one), than that was just the tip of the iceberg.

"He said it'll help center me and make it easier to control my abilities," said Sam, exasperated. "I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of it, Dean."

"I'm not making a big deal."

"You're not?"

"No."

"Okay, then," Sam said. "You're _not_ making a big deal and we're talking about nothing. Glad to see we've got things settled."

Shaking his head, Dean went back to work, not feeling up to arguing with his brother right now. He hoped Sam knew what he was doing. Dean knew he'd protect Sammy with whatever he could give and then some, but knowing there was a place he couldn't follow, there were things he could never understand about him...he'd have to trust Sam. And Obi-Wan. Dean had probably been experimented on by the staff here and didn't know it. Hopefully with Obi-Wan's training, Sam could protect himself from the same fate.

Dean didn't want him to lose anything to Landels, least of all his memories: he'd gladly give up everything he still had if it meant Sammy would be safe.


	3. Peace of Mind

**October**  
by Famira Damaris

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of this. The writing is my own, the characters and settings aren't.

**Summary**: Written for Damned (LJ RPG). A few days after raiding the kitchen for supplies and Dean's encounter with Bigfoot a lurcher, Sam adjusts to being Obi-Wan's "student", Dean wants more than anything to find out more about the good Head Doctor, Sam encounters a certain Osborn, and reflects on just how far he'll go to save Dean's lost memories.

**Author Notes**: This third part was written for this writing event we had in this panfandom livejournal game I'm a part of called Damned. The premise is basically your character wakes up and suddenly finds themself in a seemingly normal mental institute...only it's not and changes to a survival-horror setting each night. Oktoberfest involved taking any characters in Landels and writing a 2000-5000 word fic. This was more for fun than to be an entry.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X  
October  
X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

**(Peace of Mind)**

"I can't do it," Sam Winchester said, frustrated.

He frowned down at the fork lying on the table between them: it sat there stubbornly, refusing to budge.

At least it wasn't a spoon.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was unruffled as usual. "You said you've done it once before, Bob. The ability is there, even if the control itself is not. It was worth a try, but getting to this point will take time. Have patience."

Sam nodded. It had been a long three days after he began his first round of meditations with Obi-Wan and while Obi-Wan kept saying he wasn't his teacher, that he _couldn't_ be his teacher, he sure acted like it, coaching him with one-on-one sessions like this morning in the cafeteria. It wasn't just a whole lot of meditating, which was what Sam told Dean it was: it wasn't that he liked lying to Dean, but to be honest, his brother wasn't exactly a fan of this psychic business and telling him he was trying to actually _learn_ telekinesis wouldn't make him a happy camper. Sam didn't know where Dean was in the crowded cafeteria, but knew he was there, and knew he was probably keeping an eye on him.

He seemed to be doing that a lot, especially after that night when he'd been taken by the doctors and experimented on.

Sam kept telling him he was fine. But the fact of the matter was he kept getting visions almost daily now and it was driving him up the wall. The meditation helped a lot, the visions hitting him during his sleep now instead of when he was awake. But it wasn't enough, Sam knew. He needed more control. If he was going to protect his brother and himself, he had to confront these weird powers and get them under control...even if a part of him was terrified doing that was doing exactly what Yellow-Eyes wanted. The other psychics he'd met, the violent ones, always had more control over their own "talents" than he had. They hadn't exactly turned into Boy Scouts.

The problem was he had no idea what other abilities he had. Each person he ran into seemed to have different ones and he knew he had those visions, and that one time with the telekinesis and who knew what others might be waiting for a chance to claw to the surface?

What if other ones started cropping up with Obi-Wan's help?

They could be dangerous. Or they could be the very thing that could help Dean remember all those missing months. It was a lot of ifs...the very thing Obi-Wan was insistent about _not_ thinking about.

Sam could quiet his thoughts and shut everything out when he meditated. But meditating was a conscious effort for him and he couldn't do it all the time, not like Obi-Wan seemed able to. Sam didn't know if Obi-Wan was part of the pattern - he was too old to fit it, but for all he knew, he could be part of a previous generation of psychics, one of the ones who'd come out surprisingly normal. Or maybe, a niggling part of him thought, maybe he really _was_ Obi-Wan. Sam had seen a lot of crazy things but movie characters coming to life was pretty out there, even for him. Still, whoever Obi-Wan was, he did know his stuff and so maybe in the end it didn't matter - all that mattered was he'd get what he needed from Obi-Wan and help Dean.

Across from him, Obi-Wan finished his breakfast, spearing a piece of pancake on his fork. "How's your friend?"

It took Sam a moment to realize who he was talking about. "Who, Huey?"

"Yes. I sensed he wasn't entirely happy with our sessions."

Sam's smile was a little sheepish. "He's adjusting. My abilities started popping up at a bad time, I guess."

"He means well," said Obi-Wan. "You're very lucky to have such a good friend."

It was times like this Sam wasn't sure if Obi-Wan knew who Dean really was and that was his roundabout way of saying it. Sam was used to lying and lying easily but he was also sitting across from the human lie detector - one who had one of the best poker faces he'd ever seen. If Obi-Wan knew, he didn't say anything. Breakfast wrapped up soon after, with Obi-Wan reminding him to meditate once more, telling him to focus on what visions he had, confront them and move on. Easier said than done, Sam thought.

He said yes anyway.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Sam watched as Dean paced the length of the room impatiently, hands on his hips. Dean was the kind of guy who jumped from being annoyingly lazy to annoyingly restless, and Sam wished sometimes he would just choose one and stick with it for once.

Dean had come knocking as soon as nightshift began, popping up in front of his door just as Sam was about to go looking for him. Just like they agreed, he hadn't let him in until he'd checked to make sure he wasn't one of those shapeshifters, shining his flashlight into his brother's eyes and letting him do the same before letting him step over the salt line he'd left just inside the door. Sam hadn't really been able to explain _that_ to his roommate. Maybe he could just chalk it up as being a weird quirk and let it slide. After all, they _were_ in a mental institute and you had to expect a little crazy.

Now Dean was pacing up and down Sam's small room as if he was caged. He whipped around suddenly, his body language screaming _confrontational_. Sam was sure he was still making a big deal about Obi-Wan and he tensed, ready to argue again with Dean about it if he wanted to start it all up again; he was surprised when what came out of Dean's mouth had nothing to do with his lessons.

"We gotta find Martin Landel's office."

Sam watched Dean, frowning. "We still don't know what he is, Dean."

"We'll find out there," Dean insisted. "It's one thing to hunt small fry like this back on the road, but we've got something big on our hands now. I wanna know what the hell he is."

Sam couldn't argue with Dean there, but they couldn't just go charging in either. "He could be a demon."

"Could be."

"You don't sound very sure."

"It's 'cause I'm not," Dean admitted. He faced Sam and Sam saw he wasn't happy at all. "Hate to preach to the choir, but I'm missin' about several months of hunting, according to you. What if I knew somethin' and it's gone now?"

It was the most open Dean ever had been to Sam about the gaps in his memory. Sam didn't say anything at first, a pit settling in his stomach. He missed the Dean he knew, but he'd be lying if he said watching the Dean in front of him now wrestling with admitting his weakness - something that wasn't even his fault - didn't bother him.

"We're working on that," Sam said gently, trying to be reassuring. "There's probably a way to reverse it. We just haven't found it yet, that's all. We have to be patient."

Dean stopped pacing, his back to his brother.

"Dude, seriously, cut it out."

"Cut what out?"

Dean turned on Sam, voice suddenly _too_ level.

"This whole walkin' on egg-shells crap. There's a good chance whatever they did to me is permanent. I'm a big boy, Sam."

"What do you want me to say, then?" Sam was on his feet without thinking, mouth thinned into a line, towering over his older brother.

Dean wasn't in his face - yet. "I get why you're all buddy-buddy with Obi-Wan. You wanna learn to control those powers, okay, fine. Awesome. But you better be doing it for the right reasons."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't think my memory can be recovered is what I'm sayin'," Dean said. "If you're gonna control your abilities to protect yourself, then I'm behind you all the way. But I don't want you wastin' your time on me, y'hear? What's gone is gone."

And in that way only Dean could, he changed the subject out of nowhere before Sam could argue back. It used to drive Sam crazy when he did that and it still did, even here and now.

"We'll have to find his office, first. I'm not saying we break in from the get go, but if the Head Doctor's a demon, we could pick up some traces of sulfur or something outside the door."

Sam was sorely tempted to bulldoze right over that and insist Dean _not_ try to avoid the subject by pulling that BS again; no matter what Dean said, he didn't plan to stop trying to find a way to help him. Dean might be missing several important months, but he could still be pig-headed and _so damn frustrating_ even without them. That hadn't changed. But Sam wasn't a kid anymore himself, and it wasn't like he'd just jump at what Dean told him to do, like when they were little. He'd learned maybe he couldn't change Dean's mind once it was set on something, not unless you liked butting heads with a brick wall, but there were other ways around him being a stubborn jerk. It meant going behind his back. Dean might not want to be helped, but Sam was going to help him anyway.

He just wouldn't tell him.

"Okay," Sam said instead. "I'll look into it. It's possible some of the patients might've seen his office."

"One of the nurses has gotta know something."

"Dean, I don't think there's a point trying to get their numbers."

Dean broke into an achingly familiar lop-sided grin. "Who said anything about their numbers?"

Sam sighed.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Glancing around, Sam tried to look for someone who might know something. The courtyard filled up fast but built as it was, it didn't look like it, a large pond dividing it into a large horse-shoe that left plenty of space for patients to mill about (although there was only so far you could even go with the staff stationed around like guards). The hunter wandered around down the path, keeping an eye out without looking like he was scoping the place out, just like Dad taught him, and while there wasn't a lot of things he wasn't happy with Dad about, even dead several months as he was, teaching him how to keep an eye out without _looking_ like he was keeping an eye out wasn't one of them. Sam paused for a fraction of a second before joining another patient looking close to his age.

The man turned to reveal a terrible scar covering the right side of his face. One eye had that filmy white look to it that told Sam he was blind on that side. Was this an injury from Landels or from before? The problem was they - so far - hadn't been able to tell how long this place had been in operation, so answering questions like that was still out of their hands for the time being. Sam felt badly for the guy, even if he'd seen injuries like that and worse in the past, and probably would see more in the future.

"Mind if I join you?" Sam asked.

The man shrugged. "Go ahead."

Friendly guy. Sam sat down on the bench next to him, following his gaze. His companion was watching a blond man in the distance like a hawk, his eyebrows drawn together in a deep frown as he stared at him with an intensity that was almost a little scary. Sam reminded himself to search out the second guy later. Obviously there was some kind of history between them - that or some serious bad blood, which would make things pretty awkward - and either way, if he was going to talk to both of them, he'd need to talk to them separately.

"Steve Bartek," he started. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions...?"

The scarred patient finally tore his eyes away from trying to burn holes in the man near the pond. "Harry Osborn." He didn't quite smile, but he did hold out his hand, which was a good sign. Sam shook it. "You new?"

Why did everyone keep assuming that? "Yeah," he said, "More or less."

"So what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you knew anything about this place. Where stuff is, rooms to avoid are," Sam said. "Anything would help, really."

Harry's blind eye was expressionless, faded. The ghastly scar covering his face looked like it hurt, the flesh knitted and rising in painful ridges - but Harry smiled then, the expression creasing the scars, and for a second, Sam could see the man he used to be before all of this. He used to smile a lot, laugh-lines crinkling around his eyes as one corner of his mouth - the unscarred side - quirked up in an easy-going, roguish grin. Harry had been handsome once.

"I'd love to help," Harry said. His eyes strayed toward the blond man in the distance, still smiling. "But I just need a little favor first..."

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

"What's with the salt?"

Sam exchanged looks with Dean, who'd just let Max in through the door after she passed the flashlight test. True to form, she noticed the salt line right off the bat, her dark eyes flicking down to it almost immediately and then looking back at the two Winchesters with a raised eyebrow. Dean had told him a little bit about what she claimed to be and while Sam wasn't sure yet about her being some government-created, genetically altered chimera (he hadn't ever prescribed much to that kinda Area 51 conspiracy theory), he _did_ know she was expertly trained, which was really all that mattered right now. Sam remained half-sitting on the desk's edge, Dean fixing on one of his easy, maybe-I'm-shittin'-you smirks as the girl stepped over the line.

"It keeps ghosts out," he said, grinning. "And demons."

Max only shook her head. "The guys I meet..."

"Did you find it?" Sam asked.

Max handed over a small bundle wrapped in a piece of torn bed sheet. "I don't like it, Sam. It was hard enough getting this, but giving it to a stranger?"

Sam had lifted a corner of the sheet scrap to confirm what was inside as Max spoke. A small scalpel gleamed at him, shining silver and pristine. He had no idea how many people it cut open, how much blood and guts it'd seen: the doctors obviously kept their equipment spotless and this one was no different. He didn't ask how Max got it.

"Thanks. Harry said he wanted this if he was gonna help us."

"With what?"

Sam's smile wasn't particularly revealing. "Just a little something on the side. It's kinda personal, that's all."

He spotted Dean frowning at him over Max's head, clearly wondering why he wasn't telling her the truth. Sam didn't react. He thought Max was uncommonly capable, but he also didn't want her getting mixed up in what they were planning, especially if the Head Doctor really ended up being a demon. It was pretty much the same thing as that time with Ronald Reznik...but then again, Dean didn't remember that anymore, not after Landels and for him, it didn't exist, Reznik and the bank and the ugly mess that came from it never happened. Yet another thing he'd have to fill him in on. Sam was finding out every day more and more he'd have to fill him in on; it was growing out to be a depressingly long list.

Max wasn't fooled and she crossed her arms, plopping down stubbornly in a chair. "Personal my ass."

Sam just shrugged. "Sorry. You know how it is."

"No, I don't."

"Thanks a ton again, Max," Dean butted in, sitting down in the other free chair. "I owe you one."

"Don't be surprised if I call you out on that."

Dean held up his hands. "Hey, I'm a consenting adult. Ready to roll when you are."

"Your brother," Max said to Sam, "is unbelievable. I'd hate to see him on a good day."

Sam was straight-faced. "This _is_ a good day."

Max gave Dean a hard, good-natured slug on the shoulder. "Yeah, well, I'm a consenting adult too and if I want a favor like that, I'll say. Otherwise keep on dreaming, pal, and keep it in your pants."

Wincing, Dean rubbed at his shoulder ruefully. "Sure thing."

"It's been fun, but I got other places I gotta be. You're not the only people I've got to risk being killed over. I'll catch you boys on the flip side."

Max got to her feet, rolling up with that eerily liquid way of moving she had sometimes. Sam might not be sure if she was a chimera, but she did remind him of a very big, very capable cat sometimes: he'd seen the way she practically jumped the wall the other night and while he hadn't seen her take down that thing in the cafeteria with his own eyes, Dean had filled him in enough to give him a pretty good impression. Max pretty much took down the monster with her bare hands. At least they knew she wasn't a hunter, otherwise she would've recognized the salt line if she was. All Sam needed to know was she liked Dean, despite their bickering, and she'd also saved his life that night - he probably would've ended up a red smear on the floor if it hadn't been for her. That was good enough for Sam.

It didn't mean he trusted her enough to go spilling everything to her, though.

Dean closed the door after Max, making sure he didn't disturb the salt line. He turned to Sam, watching as his brother concealed the scalpel in his desk.

"Classy," he said. "You've got a way with chicks, Sammy. No wonder she's not into you."

Sam remained twisted in an awkward angle as he began working out the bottom of the drawer, wiggling the wood slat back and forth until he could pull it out and slide the bundled scalpel inside. "Not everyone trolls around trying to get laid," he said. "Anyway, you're the one who wanted us to start looking into the Head Doctor's office. This'll help."

"You think Harry will pull through? I mean, you talked to the guy what, once? And now you think it's a good idea to start giving some guy you don't even know weapons? Weapons, I might add, we could really, _really_ use ourselves?"

Sam closed the drawer. "He'll pull through," he said.

"The Force tell you that?"

Sam ignored the jibe. "It's a hunch."

"Max'll be pissed if you're wrong."

"I don't think I'll be wrong."

Sam hadn't seen the future for a long time. His visions, when they came, came in his dreams and they were of the past, sometimes of things he wished to hell he could change. All he had left were gut feelings. Obi-Wan had said it was natural, and that he should follow such feelings so long as he didn't follow them blindly. His gut now told him that while he probably didn't want to know what Harry was going to do with the scalpel, he did believe he would help them in the end. He'd come through.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Sam spread out the maps over the top of Dean's bed. There were pages and pages of them, each detailing out certain areas, what was in them, what creatures had been encountered near there so far, warning spots like the Sun Room (which they already knew) and the Chapel (which they hadn't). Sam resisted the urge to tell Dean "I told you so", although it was probably pretty obvious from his expression - Harry had definitely pulled through, having all of the maps ready when they made the exchange with the scalpel in the patient library. Harry's good eye had glittered at the blade and he'd palmed it away with open satisfaction, a small weight seeming to lift off his shoulders.

"Here," Harry had said. "I've copied everything I've got. You can probably find this stuff in the 'clubs' you've probably seen posting on the bulletin board, but I've also added some stuff me and my...friend have found out on our own."

Sam had taken the papers, folding them neatly and sticking them in his own journal. "Thanks, I appreciate it. You've been a big help."

Harry turned to go. He turned back and Sam could only see the scarred side of his face, afternoon light filtering in through the bookshelves and making the scars look less pronounced than before.

"Good luck, Steve," he said a little stiffly. "If I find anything else, I'll come to you."

Now Sam went through the information Harry gave him with Dean. Dean rifled through the maps, shuffling them as if he was going through a deck of cards, eyes scanning them for anything they could use as Sam did the same. They'd already dismissed the first floor, which seemed to be mostly focused on the patients, and it was the area they'd seen the most of so far. He'd done his homework, Dean grudgingly admitted to Sam, and that was all he'd say, focusing on the maps more than was really necessary and not making any real eye contact with him. Sam knew his brother too well. He had a bad habit of making an effort to look someone right in the eyes when he was bothered by something and yet he wouldn't be making real eye-contact.

It was difficult to explain. The difference was subtle - most people couldn't spot it. But Sam could always tell when Dean distanced himself and didn't so much as look at you but _past_ you. He was doing it right now.

"How about this?" Sam asked, more to break up the silence than anything else. "Second floor seems to be devoted to the staff. And we know there's a third floor just from seeing the building from the outside, even if no one's been up there yet."

Dean just grunted. "Uh huh."

"Okay, what about the basement?" Sam reached down, pushing away the maps to reveal the basement one. It was only slightly more detailed than the non-existent third story one. "There's two doors to the north and south no one's been able to account for yet. But it's ear-marked _extremely dangerous_."

"Let's check that out last," said Dean. "If Martin's playing normal during the day, he might have an office in the actual facility to broadcast, not holed up underground."

Sam began collecting the papers. "Second floor then?"

"Yeah."

He took the maps from Dean, tearing out pages from his own journal and taking the time to painstakingly copy them so they wouldn't be banking on just the originals. His brother restlessly moved about the room, fidgeting with the lamp, repositioning his chair, sitting down only to stand back up again and generally annoying the hell out of Sam. He did his best to ignore it. Dean just wanted to get some answers - that or kill something evil, but it was one thing to do that armed to the teeth from the Impala's arsenal, it was another to do it with practically no weapons and no real idea what you were even up against. Eventually Dean flopped down on his back on the bed, arms crossed behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling.

Sam snuck a sidelong glance at him. Even small things, like the way he kept ticking his foot trying to let off some energy, got to him, reminded him Dean was changed. He wasn't the same man Sam knew, the one who'd promised to kill him if things went south - Sam didn't sense that same weight on his shoulders, not in the way he carried himself in Landels or the way he talked about certain things. Dean claimed he didn't remember anything aside from the car accident. So did that mean he forgot what Dad told him in the hospital? Hell, why hadn't he even asked about the Impala? The day he stopped caring about that damn car was the day Sam knew he should get worried and now he was getting plenty worried, even if he couldn't afford to show it to his brother.

Dean was distracted. Sam didn't need to be Obi-Wan Kenobi to see that or figure out why.

It was hard, knowing time was missing in your life. Sam had personal experience there: he'd been possessed by a demon once and while the thing made sure he was awake and kicking for the gruesome parts in order to torture him, there were definitely other spots he wasn't aware of. He'd only been missing a week then too. It wasn't close to what it'd feel like missing months. Sam tore his eyes away from Dean. He hadn't told Obi-Wan about why he wanted to control his powers - not yet, anyway. He would have to eventually. But if there was a way to jump-start Dean's memories, Sam had a feeling it was pretty high-level stuff, stuff Obi-Wan might not even know how to do or, if he did, he might not want to pass it on.

Sam liked Obi-Wan. Really, he did. But this was his _brother_ they were talking about here and he was determined to learn how to help Dean no matter what he said, no matter what his "teacher" said.

If Obi-Wan knew and didn't want to show Sam, tough. He'd have to pass it on one way or another.


End file.
